“You might be part golden retriever,” I say, grinning as I think of Flint running around in a collar. That is, not a fun kind of kinky collar. More like a dog collar, like…I’ll shut up now, brain. Thanks.
We turn up the ramp to get to the pier, which welcomes us with a bright, flashing sign. Once parked, we rumble down the boardwalk, lifting Lily and Callum up to see the sights. Look, there’s a man selling pink and blue cotton candy! See, there’s people riding on a giant Ferris wheel! Look, over there, that’s a couple of drunk guys arguing about who gets the best fishing spot and hitting each other with empty clam shells!
We have to leave once the men start throwing punches. Some things little kids shouldn’t see.
“This was a good idea,” Flint says, as we do our best to help Callum and Lily eat strawberry ice cream. Callum seems like he prefers dunking his face into the cup and coming up with a pink smeared nose. He chortles, then puts a sticky hand in Lily’s hair. I laugh as I wipe their faces with a wet wipe from their diaper bag.
“I always thought the pier was the nicest place for a family gathering,” I tell Flint, then instantly wish I’d shut up. Flint clears his throat and looks down at the ice cream, carefully spooning some for the kids. Right. Not family. Not even close. We’ve known each other biblically, yes, but not the same thing.
“Was that a carousel back there?” Flint asks, looking at the pink and blue domed building near the front of the park.
“It’s from the 1920s. I love it,” I say, grinning. Who doesn’t love a good carousel? Answer: people with no soul.
“Then I think we should take these two rascals for a ride,” Flint says, hoisting Lily onto his shoulder while she shrieks with glee. Seeing him so relaxed with the little girl, my heart does a traitorous squeeze. Maybe he’ll have kids with Charlotte. Adorable little munchkins with Flint’s gorgeous hair and eyes and Charlotte’s beautiful face. They’d be perfect.
We roll the kids to the carousel and buy tickets. I sit with Lily in the carriage pulled by a wooden swan, and Flint sits on a magnificent white horse, holding Callum in front of him. As we ride in slow circles, we chat.
“This your favorite place in LA?” he asks me, going up and down in the air on his trusty mount. Heh. Mount. Stop it, Laurel.
“I think the Malibu coastline is what really gets me,” I tell him, picturing the crashing white foamed waves against the beautiful beaches and rocky terrain. I’m a nature girl myself, in a way. I just prefer the ocean. “But I love this place.”
“Ever come here with that guy, what’s his name? Thomas?” Flint asks casually. My stomach sinks. He sounds fine with the idea of me dating someone new. Well, why shouldn’t he be fine? Besides, I want it to look like I’ve moved on as well. That would be for the best. Both of us healthily moving forward. Going our separate ways. Separately.
“Oh, all the time,” I say lightly. I mean, Thomas and I do come here. It’s a good way to get some fresh seafood and scope out the hot guys with their shirts off. But Flint doesn’t need to know that.
Once the ride is over, we put the kids back in their stroller. Apparently the overstimulation is catching up: Callum yawns, and Lily rubs a chubby fist in her eye. We amble over to a set of arcade games on the other side of the building. One of them is a figure of a man with a genie turban, and a sign saying LEARN YOUR FUTURE: $1
“My future’s not worth that much,” I laugh as I put in the change and watch the machine come to life, colored lightbulbs turning on and off rapidly. Flint leans against the machine, rolling the stroller back and forth. The kids are fast asleep now, drooling adorably.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he tells me. “You’ve got everything you want, don’t you?” He clears his throat. “Like yesterday, with that guy at the restaurant. You seem happy, like you’re in a good place right now. Like you have everything you wanted.”
I nearly scream ‘I don’t have you, you beast!’ before ripping his shirt open and terrifying the old women and pigeons. But we’re not going there. I saw the photo of Charlotte; I know what’s going on. If I brought the ‘are you back together?’ question up at this point, it’d be both pathetic and uncomfortable. I don’t want Flint to see how torn up I still am when he’s clearly moved on, so I am not going to say a damn thing.
“I don’t know,” I say. He studies me, then looks away.
“You don’t? You mean you’re not as happy as you could be?” It’s my imagination that he sounds hopeful. Right?
“I do have everything, mostly,” I say, feeling defensive. And that’s not a complete lie. “My career’s going in the direction I always dreamed. I love it.”